


The Hunt of the Unicorn

by gala_apples



Category: Skins (UK)
Genre: Emotional Manipulation, M/M, Recreational Drug Use
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-12-11
Updated: 2011-12-11
Packaged: 2017-10-27 05:06:10
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,289
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/291886
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gala_apples/pseuds/gala_apples
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Tony has worked a long time to get Sid. Written for dark_fest, for the prompt "I can tell you're a good fuck just by the way you wear that innocent face."</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Hunt of the Unicorn

Bottom line, the best skill Tony has is manipulation. It's more of an art than a skill, really, and it's not bragging to consider himself an artisan. It really doesn't matter to him what others think of it. If he wants something, it's his for the taking. The rare problem comes when someone else seems to own what he wants. Even then, it's just a matter of figuring out how to worm in between the object and the holder. He's only failed once; and Josh is something he tries not to think about.

Tony wants Sid. He's wanted him for a year, since he tried to get Sid to sleep with Michelle on the rebound. Acquiring Sid has been one of his slower moving plans. You can seduce the slutty gay mate in two days, but a best friend forever takes far longer. At least if you want to make it stick, Tony reckons he could get a drunken pull any night of the week. But afterwards, Sid would avoid him at all costs. It's better to weave a careful tapestry that makes Sid his in the final stitch, than a crepe paper knot that rips in seconds.

The situation is made all the more complicated by Cassie Ainsworth. She's one of the brightest colours in the weft, one that was only supposed to be a section but has slowly taken over the whole piece. Tony doesn't approve of graffiting on artwork during a house party, and he doesn't approve of people taking over his mental artwork either. Especially not when the tapestry in question centres around Sid.

Post exams, Tony can tell all the wanker will ever do is think of lost beautiful futures, fucking and owning flats and having clumsy mental wanker children. It'll be a barrier for any relationship Sid ever tries to have, and that's just fucked up. Even if Tony didn't want Sid for himself, it's fucked that Sid will never be able to have a positive relationship because he's stuck daydreaming. Sid's wishes and dreams are like someone's attacked his tapestry with hooks and claws.

So Tony does the smartest thing he can think of, makes the best possible knot- he sends Sid to her. Michelle thinks it's out of the kindness of his heart, but she's never been able to see into his plots. See, the thing Tony understands that everyone else doesn't is that it can't last. There's only so long they can have together, before Cassie decides she's fat, or before another Chris happens. Shit things are life, and Cassie can't handle shit things. And Tony is positive Sid can't handle Cassie not handling things.

Tony's halfway through his semester when Sid shows up at Cardiff. He doesn't ring, just knocks on Tony's door. Tony vaguely wonders who gave him the room number; if Effy's at home smirking, knowing her brother's once again gotten exactly what he said he would. It doesn't really matter though, it matters that Sid's standing there, black knit hat pulled low, hands in pockets. Tony's been working on the same patch of his artwork for so long, it's like a miracle to step back and see it's finished. The last thread has been tied, with Sid's hand on the door.

There are no hellos, no hugs. It's just Sid, standing supplicantly in the hallway, and Tony in the door frame. And the first words from Sid's mouth are delicious, the best words an art critic could ever say.

"Oh, Christ, Tony. Shit, I thought-"

"That it would be perfect? Prat." It's all Tony can do to not break into a smile, and if it was any other person, or at a different time, he would anyway. But this is a delicate place in the proceedings, and a misstep in facial expression could cost him everything.

"It was for awhile. And then..." Sid shrugs, and Tony steps back from the door frame to let Sid in. They sit and Tony rummages through his roommate's rubbish bin until he finds the small black case at the bottom. A clever hiding spot, if you were of normal intelligence. He rolls up a spliff and passes it to Sid, because intoxication _always_ helps in this sort of situation.

"She just, she doesn't, it's just" a wordsmith Sid is not, but it's not like Tony cares. "She didn't even try to make things okay. She just let things take her, and New York is not a place where you can do that."

"She never could've been enough for you."

It's pure truth, and yet Sid seems to react poorly. "I never said I was better than her!"

"Didn't say you were. She just didn't have the right pieces to fit you, and you probably didn't have the right pieces for her. Like puzzles. Not the cardboard's fault it's not going to fit."

"I can't believe I spent so much time-"

"Fuck it, Sid. It's done. Forget it. Just think, what are you going to do now?"

"I don't _know_." Sid moans, and flops onto his back on the bed.

"Why don't you go after someone that actually knows your shape, not to push the metaphor too far."

"I'm not dating Michelle again. I don't even know if you're still dating her."

"I've moved on. And I wasn't thinking Michelle." From his standing position, it's easy to crawl on top of Sid. Tony's snogging him before he has a chance to protest. His legs straddle one of Sid's, cock pushed right against his thigh, and he rides against his best friend, tongue pushing to find the passion he knows must be there.

It's only when he can feel Sid starting to get hard too that he pulls away from the kiss. Tony takes a second to thank God for his complexion, his pale white skin against his snog-roughened lips. He knows he's got what's called a blowjob smile, and it's what he wants Sid to see too. "You could fit my pieces."

"Again, with the metaphor," Sid chuckles weakly. Christ, such an innocent fucking face. It's what made Tony want him, what made him keep weaving throughout all the drama.

"I'm going to suck you, unless you say stop." It's easy to throw in the second clause, because he knows Sid won't.

The zipper scrapes across his cheek as he slowly bobs his head. Tony hates the idea that tomorrow he'll have a cluster of scratches marring his otherwise perfect features, but if that's one side of the scale, the other side is Sid canting his hips up-up-UP like he can never get deep enough inside the heat of Tony's mouth. That movement is worth anything.

In the end, there's no fitting of pieces. Sid comes, beautifully, and before swallowing Tony scoops some of it from his mouth. His curled finger presses against Sid's lips and the bespectacled teen opens his mouth reluctantly. Tony orgasms at the image, at the feel of Sid's tongue scraping his own spunk off his index finger.

He doesn't bother to roll to the side, doesn't even consider standing and cleaning himself up. Instead he just rests his head on Sid's hip and lets the pleasant afterglow of any orgasm mix with the heady thrill of completing a more difficult acquisition. It's a great feeling.

Tony often finds himself wanting something. His whole life, he's been weaving tapestries of his own wants, using people like thread in his own games. This is the first time he finds himself not recklessly setting fire to the finished artwork. Instead, he puts it in a frame. This will be his forever. And if he's lucky, Sid won't ever realise he's just a collection of fibres Tony has knotted perfectly.


End file.
